


I Do, We Do, We Will

by magicbus77



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Kidnapping, Kissing, M/M, Murder Family, Murder Husbands, Sleepy Cuddles, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-18 07:18:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8153642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicbus77/pseuds/magicbus77
Summary: What if Will stumbled upon Hannibal and Abigail as they painted her kitchen in blood? Are his feelings of betrayl stronger than his need to protect Abigail? This is a story of rash decision, awkward consequences, and the idea that pretending to be in love can lead to the real thing.Be sure to check out the amazing artwork by @m-oarts!





	1. The Big Day

“Are you ready to die, Abigail?”

With a thick swallow and a twinkle in her eye that is far too gleeful to be normal, Abigail nods. “Can I push the button?”

She situates herself against Hannibal, her shoulders pressing along his strong chest. He tilts her head at the desired angle. Her jaw drops as she watches her blood splatter on the linoleum, breath stuttering while fat, crimson droplets cascade from cabinets to the countertops below.

Abigail is the artist, flinging her chosen medium across the dirty canvas of the kitchen. The image is of her own design, but the influence that drives her is easily felt. Subtle shifts in Hannibal’s weight guide her hand, and with one final twist, the last of her blood pools at their feet. She sees their reflection in it, watches how Hannibal pets her hair. _Like a father_ , she thinks. The only one she deserves.

With a soft press of his lips to her temple, Hannibal whispers, “Abigail Hobbs is dead.”

“I’m beginning to think the one I knew never existed.”

Abigail gasps at the sight of Will in the doorway. His gun is drawn, trained on Hannibal, but his shocked, wet eyes never leave her face. There is a struggle within her; who she wants to be versus what survival dictates she becomes. The remnants of her battered morality reach for Will, causing her hand to stretch out feebly and her lips to form his name in a desperate plea.

Hannibal knows her plight, long ago surrendering himself to the beast he is now. Over time, his survival skills have been honed to a much finer point, far beyond a youthful glow and round, innocent eyes. He is a killer and must act accordingly, despite a lingering fondness for his prey.

“We were not expecting company, Will. Please excuse the mess.” Hannibal’s grip tightens around Abigail’s waist. It is a warning and she stills in his arms, instinctually sensing it as such.

Perspiration runs freely over Will’s brow as he tries to collect his scattered thoughts. He had been better off alone and scared in an unfamiliar wood. Now, he finds himself absolutely terrified in his present company; a confirmed killer and whatever type of monster Dr. Lecter has been hiding so well.

All of the clues he should have picked up on, all of the tired puns that replay like a veiled confession. He’s still too muddled, too shaken to put in the effort of piecing the clues together at this moment, but still they come, revealed beneath the swipe of a swinging pendulum. Will shuffles further into the room, his gun wavering before locking its sight square between Hannibal’s eyes.

Will swallows hard, closes his eyes as sweat clouds his vision. “It was you…that morning on the phone.” He can almost hear the ghost of the conversation from Hobbs’ end. His gaze lands steady and firm on Abigail. “What else don’t I know?”

“So much, my friend.”

“An example would be nice.”

Hannibal chuckles, his sharp teeth catching the harsh light. “You’ve studied my work, eaten evidence at my table. Have you truly never suspected?”

_No, no, no._ Bile rushes up Will’s throat. It is either the knowledge of what he’s ingested, the truth about who he thought to be his friend, or a powerful combination of the two that turns his stomach. “The Chesapeake Ripper.”

The fact that Hannibal is telling Will eviscerates whatever hope he had for a peaceful resolution. He and Abigail are as good as dead. A flash of anger burns hot in his the pit of his gut, all directed towards Abigail. “And you knew.”

“I figured it out, but I was too scared to tell you. I didn’t know what he would-“

Abigail’s words are cut off, trapped in her throat now twisted by Hannibal’s grasp. His fingers tighten on her chin as he pulls. The deep red scar against the pale expanse of her neck resembles a rubber band stretched to its breaking point. “That is close enough, Will. One more step and I will snap her neck.”

“You say that as though there’s another way for this to play out, Dr. Lecter. Abigail can identify you, can implicate you in the cover-up of Nicholas Boyle. Based on what I know of the Ripper, you don’t seem like a man to leave loose ends.”

“There are many scenarios, many undetermined outcomes.” Hannibal’s tone is smooth, unstressed, as he positions himself more discreetly behind Abigail’s frame making a fatal shot impossible. “But first, you must put down the gun.”

Will smiles, rubs his tongue along his bottom lip. “Not a chance.”

Abigail screams, the torque on her neck increasing. “Please, Will,” she begs in a whisper. Her bright, wet eyes bulge in fear. “Please.”

Lowering his weapon, but never removing his finger from the trigger, Will shifts his weight from foot to foot, swaying like a nervous child. “Let her go.”

“In a moment.” Hannibal’s fingers relax. He doesn’t let go completely, but he affords Abigail a moment to breathe as he slips his pinky over the scar her father created. “I need assurances, Will, that you won’t run to Jack the first chance you are given.”

“That’s bold, even for you.” Will’s gaze settles on Abigail, eyes full of apology before he completes his thought. “You know I can’t.”

“I am sorely disappointed in your decision.” Hannibal pushes Abigail’s face away, allowing a further range of motion to severe the spinal cord.

Abigail whimpers. Her mind whirls, frantically searching for a way out. “Wait! Marry him.”

The suggestion is clearly directed towards Hannibal, but Will understands immediately. What a clever, devious girl he had hoped to take under his wing. Spousal testimonial privilege seems an unlikely thing for a young girl to concern herself with, but she has obviously become accustomed to using whatever knowledge she possesses to her advantage.

Hannibal’s deep brown eyes bore into Will’s skull. He never blinks as a wry grin forms on his lips. “Interesting suggestion, sweet Abigail. Tell me, how do you know of such things?”

“My mother, “ A fat tear rolls down her cheek as she trembles in Hannibal’s arms. “Dad told her everything. I heard them arguing before we left on our last…hunting trip.”

Will’s grip tightens on the gun at his side. Abigail, in two simple words, has saved herself while damning him. He can’t even find it in himself to blame her. “The law only applies to information learned during the course of the marriage.”

The corners of Hannibal’s mouth twitch in a ghost of a smile, the sharp edges of his cheekbones dulling for an instant. “Then, I know how we shall spend the honeymoon. For all that you think you know, there are so many secrets to be revealed.”

“Why are you considering this?” Will’s brow furrows in confusion.

The longer the proposal hangs in the air, the more Hannibal wishes it had been his idea. “I’m curious, Will. Aren’t you?”

“But, I’m your patient. Your license will be revoked.”

“Never officially,” Hannibal reminds him. “Questions may be raised, accusations thrown about. In the end, no wrong doing can be found.”

Will scoffs. “No wrong doing? We both know that isn’t true.”

“Which is why you’re a threat.” A delightfully unpredictable one, but a liability none the less. “What is your choice, Will? Your life, as well as Abigail’s, hangs in the balance.”

“Is that an official proposal?” Will scratches his head furiously. “I’m swooning, Doctor.”

Spinning, to be more accurate. Will thought he was confused when he emerged from an episode, but that could never hold a candle to how he feels right now. This slips from confusion to madness. He should say no, run to Jack and tell them how the FBI had been duped.

Oddly, it is Hannibal’s willingness that keeps Will from attempting a shot. He hates to admit it, but the smugness Hannibal exudes erodes his sensibility. If he resists, Will may never get answers to questions that have resulted in many a sleepless night. As an answer to both his questions and Hannibal’s, he puts his gun on the countertop and extends a hand which Abigail gladly accepts.

“Excellent.” Hannibal takes Will’s gun in hand and motions towards the door. “You drive to the courthouse. I will accompany Abigail in the backseat for safety.”

Will knows that they are no more safe than they were moments ago. Legally tying himself to the Chesapeake Ripper will be the most reckless act of his life. He undeniably shares Hannibal’s curiosity, but now his concern is: can he make it out alive?

*****

Will doesn’t know how he got here, staring at his own shocked face in the flattering mirrors of some high-end department store. There was no loss of time, just a deep confusion over why he failed to flee. Why is he not screaming at the other shoppers that this man, thumbing through the racks to find the perfect blazer, will rip them apart and pluck the heart from their chest before they’re done with it? Abigail nudges Will with her shoulder and then he remembers. “We should be forming a plan.”

“We already have one,” she whispers.

“Marrying Hannibal is not a plan. It’s a death sentence.”

Abigail’s eyes dart around the brightly lit room and flips through the display of ties and silk pockets squares. “You’re not looking beyond the ceremony. If you were thinking clearly, you’d realize this marriage could be the only thing that saves your life. When a spouse goes missing, the first suspect is always the husband.”

Will balks as she places a purple paisley tie under his chin. “Don’t be cute. This is no time for jokes.”

“I’m not laughing.” She chooses a pattern that reminds her of leaves in the fall and loops it around Will’s neck. “I’ve learned from experience; the closer you are, the safer you stay.”

“Did dear old Daddy teach you that?” Will wishes he could take the barb back immediately, flinching at the pain he sees on Abigail’s face.

She recovers quickly, a chameleon if nothing else. With a smile, she tightens the knot and steps back to inspect her work. “He won’t hurt us.”

“A half hour has barely passed since he threatened to snap your neck.”

“But, he didn’t.” Abigail spares a glance in Hannibal’s direction, an unexplainable look of fondness in her eyes. “Are you nervous? About the actual wedding, I mean. I know how you feel about…after.”

Will can’t stop the anxious laughter that bubbles in his chest. “The ceremony is the least of my worries. I’m sure I can correctly respond when prompted.”

“And the kiss?”

“The-“ Will’s forehead creases as his eyes narrow. He hadn’t gotten around to envisioning that portion of the event.

“Arms up, please.”

Will jumps at the sound of Hannibal’s voice, never sensing his presence until it is announced. He does as instructed. The weight of the soft wool jacket feels like a lead vest on his back.

As Hannibal straightens the lapels and secures the button at the waist, Will can’t help but stare at his mouth. He has never kissed a man before. The shadow of fine stubble dots the dimpled skin under Hannibal’s nose and Will wonders how it will feel against his lips. A swell of panic rises in his chest, knowing that it won’t be long until he finds out.

“I’m afraid this will have to do.” Hannibal expands the distance between them only slightly, finally removing his hands from Will’s person. “If only time had allowed for more preparation.”

“I’m still uncertain as to why you needed to dress me up for a shotgun wedding.”

“There will be photographs, Will, appearances to keep. The ruse becomes less believable if you are dressed as a lumberjack.”

Will breathes a sigh of relief at Hannibal’s phrasing. Until this moment, he had worried that a reminder that this is in no way real would be necessary. The marriage, for however long they can survive it, is purely one of convenience, wholly inconvenient as it may be. “Are we done here?”

“Are you in a hurry, Will?”

“Dr. Lecter?” A store employee, smiling warmly, taps Hannibal on the shoulder. “I have what you requested.”

“Excellent, Cynthia.” Hannibal nods at Will and runs his palm down the sleeve of Will’s jacket. “Would you be so kind as to ring this up, as well? My fiancé will be wearing it out of the store.”

There is a glimmer in Hannibal’s eye, a proud display of affection for his beloved to any stranger who may catch it. Will recognizes it for what it is; a taunt to the pet on the end of Hannibal’s leash.

Hannibal follows the associate up to the cash registers, a black credit card in hand. Abigail sighs at Will’s side. “He seems excited.”

“Why wouldn’t he be?” Will checks out his reflection. He barely recognizes himself, his wardrobe, his decision. He loosens his tie with a frustrated tug. “I would appreciate it if you dialed your enthusiasm down a few notches.”

“Fake it until you make it, Will.”

“And why should I do that?”

“This will be hard enough to explain to Agent Crawford and Dr. Bloom. You’d be doing yourself a favor if you dropped your current attitude.” She slips her arm inside the crook of Will’s elbow and leads him to the exit where Hannibal is waiting with a foreboding smile. “I’d start practicing now.”

Will slows his steps, flashes a toothy grin and states “I married Dr. Lecter. This is the happiest day of my life.”

Abigail grimaces and gives his arm a squeeze. “That was horrible.”

He knows. Will knows and yet he has no idea how to fix it. He determines the first step will be looking at Hannibal without imagining blood dripping from his teeth. Step two is not recoiling from his soon-to-be husband’s touch and Will does an admirable job as he walks to the car with Hannibal’s hand pressed to his lower back.

Opening the rear passenger door, Hannibal bows slightly and ushers Abigail inside. As they walk around the trunk together, he grips Will’s upper arm. “I commend you for not abusing my trust, Will. I’m proud of you.”

Will rolls his eyes. “Geez, thanks.”

One side of Hannibal’s mouth quirks. “Do you view our marriage as an insufferable burden?”

For the first time today, an honest smile graces Will’s lips. “I do.”

Brushing a gloved thumb over Will’s chilled cheek, Hannibal chucks him under the chin. “Don’t be so certain. I’m full of surprises.”

*****

Hannibal holds Will’s twitching left hand in his right, squeezing firmly as a reassuring gesture. Sweat slicks his palm and he is certain it is not his own. One look at Will is enough to cause concern. His skin is flushed and perspiration tightens the curls on his head. “You are Will Graham. It is three forty-five in the afternoon and you are in Grand Rapids, Minnesota.”

Will shrugs out of Hannibal’s grasp and wipes his hands on a handkerchief from his pocket. As he dabs at the webbing between his fingers, Will sighs loudly. “What is your middle name?”

“I don’t have one.”

“Mine is-“

“Shannon.” Hannibal takes the monogrammed square of cotton and wipes along Will’s hairline. “Abigail, please, hold our place in line. Will and I should return shortly.”

With a firm hand between his shoulders, Will enters the men’s room, giving little resistance. They don’t speak as Hannibal gathers paper towels from the dispenser and mops at Will’s hair. His eyes focus on a thin stream of water from the faucet wetting the tines of a comb Hannibal must carry with him at all times. Will’s eyelids flutter shut, momentarily soothed by the gentle scrape against his scalp.

Without thought, Will takes hold of Hannibal’s wrist. “Why are you doing this?”

“Aesthetics.”

“No.” Will shakes his head, stopping abruptly, strangely mindful of not undoing Hannibal’s work on his appearance. Meeting Hannibal’s gaze, Will whispers, “ _This_. You could have killed us both and been safely back in Baltimore before anyone found our bodies.”

Grinning wryly, Hannibal’s tone is amused. “I take great pleasure in surrounding myself with rare objects, finding the beauty in their uniqueness.”

“So, I’m just another _thing_ to add to your collection?”

“You are the apex.” Hannibal wads the towels into a tight ball, letting it roll from his fingers into the receptacle neatly. With his back against the door, he opens it a crack and beckons Will along. “We mustn’t dawdle. The time is upon us, dear William.”

And, so it is. Abigail is waving them into the judge’s chamber, making introductions as her face beams. The ceremony is performed by Judge Lucille Hardwick, squat in stature and quiet in nature. Will listens to the gentle lilt in her voice, notices the way she chews her vowels in a typical Minnesotan accent, but has trouble focusing on actual words. One singular thought reverberates within his skull, bouncing between the lobes like gossip passed over cubicle walls. _He thinks I’m beautiful._

“…forsaking all others, be faithful only to him, for as long as you both shall live?”

How odd that wedding vows should actually apply in this situation. Will is forsaking all others, being faithful to Hannibal and the secrets he hides. The likelihood that one or both of them will perish in the end is high. This is the choice he has made, so with an earnest nod, Will clears his throat and utters, “I do.”

“Do you have rings?”

Will pats at his pockets, seeking for what he knows isn’t there in a nervous reaction.

“I have them,” Abigail says brightly. She gives Hannibal the smaller of the two, the other she presses into Will’s palm. He shakes as he slips the cold metal onto Hannibal’s finger, hears the faint snap of an imaginary lock as Hannibal does the same.

“By the power vested in me by the state of Minnesota, I now pronounce you husbands.” Judge Hardwick smiles and gives Hannibal a wink. “You may now kiss your groom.”

Hannibal is slow in his approach. His hands glide over Will’s shoulders, kneading the muscles of his upper arms. Will watches as Hannibal’s tongue slips over his bottom lip leaving behind an inviting shine. Their breath mingles, curling together in the ever-diminishing space between them. Will closes his eyes and gives himself over to the inevitable.

The kiss appears common to those around them, a simple pressing of lips. Beneath the surface is more than that. This is not a handshake at the end of a successful business deal. This is the culmination of lingering glances and hesitant touches, the realization of deeply suppressed and confusing desire. How different the moment would have been just days ago when Hannibal had the potential to be more than a friend and the stutter of Will’s heartbeat didn’t need to be a shameful secret.

Overwhelmed by the vision of what he had been too blind to see, Will pulls a deep breath through his nose and tilts his head gently. His hands clutch desperately at Hannibal’s waist, seeking stability when his equilibrium fails. So strange that the source of Will’s chaos is also the grounding force. Oddly comforting that Will doesn’t have to put much thought into why as Hannibal’s lips part beneath his.

Holding him firmly is the one person who knows him. Hannibal has shown light on the darkest crevices of Will’s mind and has given acceptance in return. Will melts into the reception, daring to seek the stubble he had stared at so intently. He sucks Hannibal’s upper lip between his own, finding satisfaction in the gentle scratch and the quiet sigh Hannibal releases.

“Alright, you two. Save it for the honeymoon.”

A flash of light seeps through Will’s eyelids and Abigail’s short chuckle draws him back to his surroundings. He feels the fire of blush in his cheeks, incongruous against his unkempt beard. Will’s eyes meet Hannibal’s for a fraction of a second, but he doesn’t miss the mischievous, knowing glint there. If only to make him squirm, Will is certain that Hannibal can’t wait to make mention of his eager display.

They sign the marriage license quickly, making way for the couples who actually want to bind themselves legally. Abigail snaps another picture as they leave the judge’s chambers. “Aw, this should be your Christmas card.”

When she turns the screen for them to see, Will has to admit that they look like an idyllic couple. Abigail had captured the exact moment that Hannibal placed his arm around Will’s shoulder, their bodies pressed side to side. They both wear coordinated suits and soft smiles; Will’s directed towards the floor, Hannibal’s to Will. A pang of sadness pierces Will’s gut. They look so content in this frozen moment in time, an anomaly compared to how he will be forced to live day to day.

With a swipe across his moist brow, Will mumbles, “Where to next?”

“The car.” Hannibal takes their overcoats from Abigail and gallantly assists Will in shrugging his on. “Then, the real adventure begins.”

*****

Will examines the angularly cut stones that slash through the shiny metal of his wedding ring. At first, he thinks them onyx, so black in the waning light of day, but the longer he stares, he notices the warmth that radiates from their edges. “Are these rubies?”

Hannibal joins Will on the balcony of their suite overlooking the Chicago skyline. While a proper honeymoon isn’t an option, they simply can’t return to Baltimore. The details of his work need to be shared with Will, and privacy and time are required. Hannibal hopes that a neutral setting will help Will better digest the information. After a pleasant meal served with a bottle of wine, their talks can begin. Until then, he is happy to pretend.

Hannibal allows himself a moment of fantasy, watching the curls lift from Will’s forehead on a gentle breeze. Hannibal imagines a smile on Will’s face as he gazes at the only piece of jewelry Will cares to wear. “Garnets, actually.”

“Looks like blood.”

Hannibal nods, a minute gesture as he lights the centerpiece. “A purposeful choice.”

Will glances over his shoulder from where he leans against the ledge, but hesitates to move closer. “A bit morbid, don’t you think?”

“Not at all.” Hannibal spreads his linen napkin across his lap neatly and gently folds his hands over his knee. “We are born of it, find salvation in it. Even the traditional placement of the wedding ring is symbolic of the blood that runs beneath it.”

“You don’t believe it holds a special significance in our situation.”

“Only making it more appropriate.” Inhaling the bouquet of the opened bottle, Hannibal pours them each a glass and motions to the empty chair. “Please, sit.”

Pulling the seat away from the table, Will faces the sliding glass doors, the dramatic flop reminiscent of a petulant child. He glances at his plate in disgust. The wine he takes greedily.

“You really should eat, Will. The endive salad is not disappointing.”

“I find myself without an appetite.”

Hannibal allows the conversation to die, the silence filled by traffic from below and the distant clatter of the L train. He watches Will’s jaw work, his molars grinding painfully. He sees the wheels spin, his ire leaving a foggy tint on his glasses. “Is something bothering you, Will?”

Will’s fist connects hard with the edge of the table. Plates jump and wine dances. “Stop, Dr. Lecter.” His eyes pinching shut, Will draws a deep breath through his nose. “Just stop. No one’s watching. You can put the act on pause.”

“There is no act. You are distressed, and as your friend-“

“We are not friends!” Will stands abruptly, the chair tipping over behind him. His pointed finger swings wildly as his right wrist jerks in frustrated pulses. “I question almost everything, at this point, but of that, I’m certain.”

Hannibal attempts to soothe with his voice. “In time, I hope to prove you wrong.”

Will laughs, a high and tight sound like his throat is threatening to snap. He shoves his fingers under the rims of his glasses and digs them into his eyes. Beneath his palms, he mutters, “I’m going to bed.”

“There is the small matter of discussing my work.”

Will shakes his head slowly. He walks off the balcony, stopping with one foot inside the opulent suite. “I see you, Hannibal. I know why you jumped at this opportunity, what this,” Will flashes his ring in Hannibal’s direction, “affords you. I don’t give a damn about what the Chesapeake Ripper has done in the past. What I worry about now is how many lives it will cost to save Abigail’s.”

“Aren’t you concerned with your own survival, Will?”

Clearly, Will feels that his actions answer with a resolute and resounding no.

“Is your interest not the least bit piqued? You’ve been chasing me for some time now, even in your sleep. I assume your curiosity is nagging quite insistently at this moment.”

As his mouth opens in what will surely be a scream, Will feels the sweat on his face searing tracks down his cool skin. Then, the fire begins; a tiny flicker in the center of his brain that spreads quickly, crackling as it engulfs the nerves like dry kindling. Pools of black burst from dams behind his eyes flooding his vision until only small pricks of light remain. Will feels himself stumble, but can’t determine the direction. He searches blindly for something stable.

The moment before pure panic takes over, there is a hand on Will’s shoulder, another brushing the damp hair from his face. Hannibal has him. Hannibal will never let him go. Calm silences the fear in Will’s belly and he carries it with him as the darkness drags him under.

*****

“Good morning, sleepy head.”

Will’s eardrum vibrates, a sickly ticklish feeling as though the words are trying to burrow into his brain. His eyes strain to adjust to the harsh light above his bed. He has questions, many of them, but he can’t find the strength to utter a word.

“Looks like your fever is down. Very near normal. That’s what we like to see, Mr. Lecter.”

Will finds his voice, scratchy and uneven. “What did you just call me?”

The nurse comes into focus, a slightly stunned expression on her lined and tired face. She flips open his chart again and brushes her mousy brown waves behind her ear. “Mr. Lecter? That’s the name your husband gave us on the admission papers.”

Her eyes drift to the far side of Will’s bed. He doesn’t have to follow them to know what she’s looking at, but his head rolls against the overly firm pillow anyway. Hannibal is asleep in a stiff and poorly padded armchair. His hair has fallen softly over his eyes and his mouth is slack. It really is an unflattering look, but Will appreciates the glimpse, the most unguarded he may ever see Hannibal again. There is a twinge in his chest that Will tries very hard to ignore. “This is all very new.”

“Yes, he mentioned you were newlyweds. Congratulations. The doctor will be in to see you shortly. Just press the call button if you need anything before then.” She sets a glass of water within reach and gives his shin a pat as she turns for the door.

“Um, nurse?” Will stops her just as she rounds the corner. Her head peaks back in his room, her eyebrows raised in wait. “How long have I been here?”

“You were admitted almost two days ago. Your husband hasn’t let go of your hand the whole time.”

Will holds his breath. He feels Hannibal’s touch now. What was a gentle, warm weight just moments ago is a stifling trap pinning him down, threating to cause great harm if Will tries to squirm free. His hand twitches involuntarily, just enough to rouse a light sleeper.

Hannibal drags a deep breath through his nose as his eyes open slowly. A tender grin lifts his cheeks. “So good to see you awake, Will.” Hannibal presses his lips to Will’s fingers still gripped in his loose fist. Several days growth on Hannibal’s chin scratches the back of Will’s hand sending sparks up his arm. “You gave us quite a scare.”

“Us,” Will mimics with a smirk. “Our own little fake family.”

“After two days of constant worry, Abigail and I feel differently.” Hannibal leans back in the chair and picks at a ball of lint on his creased trousers. He releases his grip on Will’s fingers, letting them fall with a soft thunk.

Will breathes a sigh of relief, perfectly willing to ignore the way his traitorous hand clutches at the air in Hannibal’s absence. “Where is she?”

“Off trying to catch the eye of a young male nurse, I assume. She has yet to admit her interest, but when he enters the room, Abigail is prone to fits of giggles and hair twirling.” Hannibal smiles fondly even though it’s clear he doesn’t understand the innocent and awkward charm of teenage flirtation. “She is very much a girl.”

“You sound surprised.”

Hannibal licks his lips, drawing them between his teeth as he ponders. “I suppose I am.”

Will tries to imagine it, Abigail batting her lashes with a blush in her cheeks. It’s preferable to the vision of her that he knows he’ll never forget; her throat expanding beneath his hands, her blood gushing between his fingers as she stared at him with large, frenzied eyes. If only Will had met her the day prior, even an hour before the phone rang. Even then, she would still be haunted by the ghost of the girls she had consumed at the dinner table. In a flash, he sees it, certain long before he speaks the words. “How many people have you fed me?”

Standing quickly, Hannibal leans over Will, their faces just inches apart. Will tenses in an effort to shrink away, but there is nowhere to go. He flinches when Hannibal gently cups his cheek. “There are a great many things I look forward to sharing with you. However, now is neither the time nor place for such a conversation.”

Will can’t bring himself to look into Hannibal’s eyes. The smug smile Hannibal isn’t able to keep from his face is enraging enough. “You think you’ve beaten them, but I’m not the only one that can catch you. There will be others.”

“More than likely,” Hannibal sits on the edge of the bed and takes up Will’s left hand. Brushing his thumb along the ring finger, he whispers, “but the events of the past few days have extended my freedom significantly.”

The sharp wrap of knuckles on the door draws their attention. If it wasn’t for her lab coat and nose buried deep in his file, Will would have assumed the woman entering his room was a high school student volunteering to hand out magazines to the patients. “Mr. Lecter?” she questions without looking up.

Will glares at Hannibal. The change to his last name will not be permanent. “Call me Will.”

“I’m Dr. Hammond.” Her brown eyes are cold when she finally looks at Will, her expression hard from years of not being taken seriously because of her diminutive stature. “How are you feeling?”

Taking a moment to assess, Will lets out a long, shuttering breath. “Better.”

“Given your condition when you arrived, I believe that feat is very easy to achieve.”

“What’s wrong with me?” Will grips Hannibal’s fingers nervously. He’s appreciative for the pressure when Hannibal returns the gesture. The nervous buzz in his brain won’t allow Will to dwell on where he seeks his comfort.

“Encephalitis. From the severity of the swelling in the right hemisphere, it’s amazing that you’ve been able to function. You must have been exhibiting symptoms for weeks.” Her eyes fall on Hannibal, the dull gaze of professionalism sharpening a touch. Will senses they may have already had an underwhelming discussion on the subject.

“What now?” Will asks when the silence drags on for too long.

Dr. Hammond clears her throat and flips through his chart again. “You’re responding well to the antibiotic. If your progress continues at this rate, we can remove the IV within the next twenty-four to thirty-six hours. You’ll need to continue on an oral regimen, at that point. Only time will tell if we caught it before you suffer any lasting damage.”

Will swallows hard, pushing his fear down long enough to ask, “Permanent brain damage?”

She nods solemnly. “Behavioral changes, seizures, memory loss.”

“How long?”

“The word “permanent” really lays out the time table, Mr. Lecter.”

“Will, please,” he mumbles through gritted teeth. “I was asking how long I’ve had this.”

Dr. Hammond crosses her arms, Will’s chart clutched to her chest. “The exact date is hard to determine, but my conservative guess would be four to six weeks.”

Well, that explains Dr. Sutcliffe. Will tries to let go of Hannibal’s hand, but his bones grind together in a clenched fist. Hannibal doesn’t want a scene in front of witnesses and this is Will’s warning. He holds his tongue until they are alone in the room. “Her guess is wrong, isn’t it? You smelled it on me long before that.”

Hannibal smiles, obviously surprised by the lack of screaming and profanity. Will allows it for now. There will come a time when Hannibal will pay. Will wishes it could be by his own hand, the one adorned by garnets and gold if he were to choose a preference.

*****

As Hannibal pushes Will’s wheelchair through the sliding glass doors of the hospital, Will turns his face towards the sun. His lips part as he closes his eyes and drags fresh air across his tongue, no burning sensation at the back of his throat from disinfectant.

Hannibal leans close to Will’s ear, his hot breath sending a shiver down Will’s neck. “You were only inside for three days. Would you like me to help you to the pavement so that you can kiss the ground?”

Will looks over his shoulder. “Are you accusing me of being dramatic? That’s rich.”

“I know of what I speak” Hannibal says, a small smile playing on his lips.

Abigail beams from behind the steering wheel of Hannibal’s Bentley. She rolls down the passenger side window as she waits impatiently at the curb. “This thing is awesome! Will you buy my one when I go to college?”

Will chuckles at her audacity. Hannibal is less amused. “It is not a thing, Abigail. It is a finely engineered automobile.”

She runs her fingers gently over the steering wheel and down the smooth lines of the console. “Fine. This automobile is awesome. So, can I have one?”

“Absolutely not.” Hannibal guides Will up by the elbow. “Would you prefer the front or rear seat?”

“I’ll drive,” Abigail offers brightly.

Will shrugs from Hannibal’s grasp. It’s unsettling, the amount of care being shown to him. He doesn’t want to allow himself to grow accustomed to it. “Front. I fear for Abigail’s safety if I don’t separate you two.”

Abigail stubbornly sits in the driver’s seat, pretending not to see Hannibal scowling at her through the window. “What do you think he’d do if we just drove off?”

Suppressing a snort, Will inquires, “Are you asking how he would pose your corpse? Because you know he would kill you.”

She lets go of a heavy sigh and releases the safety belt. When she opens the door, she hops out immediately and wraps her arms around Hannibal’s neck. “Thank you for letting me drive, if only around the parking lot.”

Will rolls his eyes. He’s not the slightest bit surprised when, after a few moments, Hannibal pats her back gingerly. He can already hear Hannibal defending his reasoning for buying her a car.

With Hannibal in his rightful place behind the wheel and Abigail buckled in the back seat, they pull out into traffic. Will digs through the bag of his personal belongings, rustling franticly as he nears the bottom. “We have to go back. My phone isn’t in here.”

“Oh, I have it.” Abigail tosses it over Will’s shoulder into his lap. “Fully charged.”

“Thank you.” Before Will can even wrap his fingers around it, the phone begins vibrating against his thigh. With a deep sigh, he lifts it to his ear, prepared to hear Jack screaming on the other end. “Graham.”

“Put the damn burrito back, Zee. Don’t think I didn’t see that!” Beverly’s chin brushes over the microphone. Will can almost see her balancing the device against her shoulder as she chastises her co-workers. “Okay, I gotta make this quick or the guac will be gone.”

Will chuckles to himself. “God forbid.”

“This is not that mash they call guacamole in the cafeteria, Graham. This was lovingly made by the gnarled, arthritic hands of an eight-two year old national treasure. Price picked it up after his dentist appointment.”

Will can feel the dull ache in his head gaining force. He rotates his neck slowly, hearing several satisfying pops but feeling no relief. “Did you call me to tell me about your lunch?”

“Not entirely.”

“And the other reason would be?”

“Will, are you seriously trying to play dumb with me right now?” She hums a few bars of the wedding march and Will can feel cold anxiety spreading quickly through his extremities. “I see you wore tan and not the virginal white. Good choice.”

Will rubs his dry tongue over his parched lips futilely. Not fully able to focus on her words, it takes a moment for them to catch in his brain. “You see? Where do you see?”

“Where does anyone see anything? Facebook.”

Searching for something familiar, anything that will convince him that this isn’t a fever dream he’s stuck in, Will turns in time to witness Hannibal glance in the rearview mirror at Abigail, a thinly veiled smirk on his face. Pieces begin to fall into place. “Bev, I’ll have to call you back.”

“Okay, but it’s going to cost you some sexy wedding night details.”

“I had a seizure and ended up in the hospital for three days.”

“Fuck,” Bev whispers, always mindful that Jack could be storming around the corner at any time. “No kidding?”

“I’ll tell you about it later.”

“As a friend, I suggest you call Jack first. He’s gonna have an aneurysm if he doesn’t hear from you soon. It goes without saying he’s none too happy with Dr. Hubby, either.”

Will digs his fingers into his eyes, praying for a burst artery of his own. “I’ll send him an email.”

“Chicken.”

Unable to deny it, Will simply ends the call. He turns slowly, seatbelt digging into his shoulder. “Care to tell me who put our wedding announcement on social media?”

Neither Hannibal nor Abigail seems willing to answer, waiting each other out like accomplices in interrogation with a ‘snitches get stitches’ mentality. Sensing Will’s growing frustration, Hannibal takes a deep breath. “The information can be found on your page.”

“My page? I don’t have a Facebook account.”

“You didn’t have an account.”

Turning his head sharply to the person in the vehicle most versed in tweets and selfies, Will glares at Abigail’s nose. Her eyes go wide and her face pales. “It was Hannibal’s idea.”

“Your willingness to break our confidences is very concerning,” Hannibal says coolly.

“But,” she puts her hand up defensively while squirming in her seat. “But, I agree with his reasoning. This is much easier than telling every person you know face to face. People will be surprised, even angry, and frankly, you are not up to defending this.”

“You don’t think I can handle a few questions?”

Abigail’s brows raise in exasperation. “And be convincing? No, I don’t.”

Will grits his teeth and exhales forcefully through his nose. He shoves his phone into her hand. “Make it go away.”

“What?”

“Delete the account.” Will looks her in the eye. “Now.”

Hannibal’s hand gently squeezes Will’s knee. “The damage has been done. If you take it down, you’ll only arouse suspicion.”

Will knows Hannibal is right. If they are already the topic of conversation around the FBI’s water coolers, attempting to hide it now will send the gossip mill into overdrive. Facing forward and slouching against the door, Will opens the app. He isn’t agreeing to anything until he sees for himself.

There are several posts, all wedding related. Abigail had even managed to sneak a photo while Hannibal was adjusting Will’s tie outside the courthouse. Will would like to say that he isn’t surprised by any of the pictures, but in all honesty, each one creates a feeling of disbelief. Abigail is truly gifted, only capturing the rare smile or hint of affection. In five photographs, she could even begin to convince him that he and Hannibal are a happy couple.

One picture holds Will’s attention over the rest. He doesn’t even give himself a second glance. His head is down while his hands pat at his pockets. What is so captivating is the look on Hannibal’s face, one of adoration. Will tilts the phone, hoping to hide his compulsion to enlarge the image. He looks again, searching for a hint of amusement or a subtle sign of annoyance, but all he sees staring back at him is fondness. Warmth grows painfully in his chest until Will can barely breathe. He clears his throat and moves along to pictures that, while still full of unexpected emotion, aren’t as overwhelming.

“So,” Abigail begins tentatively. “What’s the verdict? Do I still need to take it down?”

Will scratches slowly at the base of his neck. He is still uncomfortable, but can see the reasoning behind keeping it just as it is. “Who can see this?”

“Anyone on your friend list.”

Scanning quickly, Will finds mostly familiar names; Alana, Beverly, Brian. “What the hell is this? Freddie Lounds?”

Abigail shrugs. “You don’t know many people. I was grasping.”

Will hands the phone to her. “Well, undo that. In fact, I think I saw some of my students in there. Get rid of anyone in an FBI t-shirt who’s flexing their muscles.”

“You just described Agent Zeller’s profile picture.”

That is not unexpected. Will feels a small sense of satisfaction when he tells Abigail, “Then, he has to go.”

Silence falls over the car as Hannibal pulls onto the interstate. Will sinks in his seat, resting his head back as his eyes fight to stay open. Once again, he feels Hannibal’s hand on his knee. “Get some rest, Will. I’ll wake you should we stop.”

Will stares at the casual way Hannibal’s fingers rest on his thigh. He hates them, so firm and calm. He has half a mind to remove them, bending them back hard as he shoves them away. Will hates himself more for leaving them there as the warm, focusing pressure lulls him to sleep.


	2. One Week Anniversary

There is a small sense of victory in Hannibal’s clear annoyance as Will splatters ketchup all over his china. Will drags a salty, soggy fry through the red mess and chews with his mouth open, unable to suppress his grin. He unwraps something called a Double Cow Monster Burger, crumpling up the paper before grabbing his knife and fork. “What wine goes best with a chili burger?”

It’s been three days since Hannibal showed Will his rolodexes; the decadent recipes and the far less savory list of ingredients. Will has since refused to eat so much as a stalk of broccoli if Hannibal is the one serving it. He’s been on a steady diet of fast food and gas station grabs, all coming with the added bonus of ruffling Hannibal’s delicately arranged feathers.

“Will,” Hannibal turns his nose up sharply, thoroughly offended by what Will calls dinner. “Why refuse what I prepare for you while relishing in the consumption of what very well may contain horse meat?”

Jabbing his fork through the bun, Will slowly saws through the rubbery patty. “I will take that very small possibility over the absolute certainty that your dinner is on a Missing Persons poster somewhere any day.”

Hannibal simply smirks, a twinkle of curiosity in his eye. Will knows Hannibal wants to see just how far he dares to push him. While Abigail wasn’t incorrect in saying that being married afforded Will a wider berth than most, Hannibal has his limits. Will hasn’t reached them yet, but he has a feeling he’ll notice when he’s close.

“I have a proposal.” Hannibal rests his elbows on the table, folds his hands in front of his mouth and gently clears his throat. “Why don’t we stay in Wolf Trap next weekend? You can have time with the dogs and I will only prepare what you catch or buy.”

Will wants to jump at the opportunity, but to say he’s wary of the gesture is an understatement. “Why?”

“Actually, there will be some construction going on in the empty lot behind the house beginning Friday. I assumed you would be more comfortable in your home as opposed to a hotel.”

“And you? Will you be comfortable there?”

Hannibal’s expression melts into something warmer; not a smile exactly, but Will can tell that he’s pleased that he even bothered to ask. “I will pack my most casual attire, nothing that will require dry cleaning.”

“Good,” Will mutters, involuntarily swallowing obnoxiously hard as he meets Hannibal’s gaze. He really doesn’t want to say it, but he feels compelled. “Thank you.”

That does make Hannibal smile. A sickening wave of affection washes over Will. He doesn’t understand it and has absolutely no idea how to stop it. It’s just something he feels a little more each day; the slow swelling of fondness squeezing the space consumed by righteous anger. There hasn’t been a monumental swing to make Will feel anything but regret over this sham of a marriage, but the longer this drags on, the more frightened he grows of the possibility that it could fade away, as well.

“Do you have plans for the evening, Will?”

Will pushes his plate to the side, his burger cold and tasting of horse. “I had intended to torture you by watching Master Chef and comparing your skills to those of the contestants, but now I’m not in the mood.”

“And for that, I am grateful.” Hannibal grabs their plates as he stands. “Will you join me in the study for dessert? No unique ingredients, only a simple bread pudding.”

Will starts a fire before pouring two healthy glasses of brandy as he waits for Hannibal. He takes a seat on the sofa nearest Hannibal’s favorite chair, squirms a bit and then, moves to stand by the window. He’s still trying to feel out his place in Hannibal’s home seeing as he will be residing there indefinitely. Will can’t claim much success on that front.

He jumps a little when Hannibal speaks from the doorway. “I have waited until the last possible opportunity to bring this up, but I’m afraid that time is upon us.”

“It’s another day at work, Hannibal. As uncomfortable as all of the others.”

“I’d like to be there when you meet with Jack.”

The glass in Will’s hand shivers and he takes a sip to hide the tremor. “Absolutely not.”

Hannibal sighs, surely expecting the initial resistance, but disappointed nonetheless. “You know he will wish to speak to me in the near future. That is inevitable. There is also a strong likelihood that Alana will be in attendance with, no doubt, a litany of harsh words she is preparing to hurl at me.”

Will doesn’t fight the urge to tease. “Are you afraid to face her alone?”

“If you were to come to my defense, it will only strengthen the appearance of our unity.”

The more time Will has to mull it over, the more he knows it’s his best option. Hannibal is much more skilled with providing answers ranging from half-truths to outright bullshit. “What time is your first patient? I’d like to get this over with as early in the day as possible.”

“I have cleared my schedule until two.” Hannibal motions Will to take the chair across from him. He passes the pudding and reaches for his glass of brandy. “There is one last thing.”

“Don’t make me change my mind, Hannibal.”

“We need to acclimate ourselves to each other’s touch.”

With his spoon hovering an inch from his lips, Will’s mouth freezes wide open. “Come again?”

Hannibal draws forward to the edge of his chair and places his hand lightly on Will’s knee. As expected, Will flinches. “We are a married couple, yet to a stranger, it would be clear that you don’t enjoy being in the same room with me.”

Will’s eyes lock with Hannibal’s, if only to prove that they can. He leans in, closing the gap between them slowly, his fingers wrapping firmly over Hannibal’s shoulder before sliding up his neck. Will wears a smile as his thumb brushes over a sharp cheekbone. In a flash, he drops the mask along with his hand, his usual sour look returning. “Just because I don’t do it often doesn’t mean I don’t know how to put on a show.”

“Then, you should have no objections to one final test.” Hannibal takes Will’s hand and tugs, pulling him close with an arm wrapped around his waist. He winks as he smiles in Will’s surprised face. “For show, of course.”

Before Will has a chance to resist, his cheek is resting on Hannibal’s chest. He tenses for a moment, but feels compelled to rise to Hannibal’s challenge. Will links his arms behind Hannibal’s back and holds on like he means it. He has never felt the desire to win a hug. He could feel it now, so he squeezes a little harder, burrows a little deeper.

They stand there, silently holding onto one another. As the seconds slip by, Will begins to wonder if he’s playing an unwinnable game. Time can only be his enemy in this situation and it’s the one thing he has in abundance.

Thankfully, Hannibal moves first. He runs his palm over the back of Will’s head. “Good job, Will.” His lips ghost over the fallen curls on Will’s forehead. “I was nearly convinced.”

*****

Will loathes admitting it, but Hannibal’s little exercise in the touchy feely is already paying off. His hands have been fidgeting long enough to become a nuisance to Hannibal and, instead of flinching, Will actually welcomes the linking of their fingers. Jack notices, his eyes darting up from the paper he’s been staring at since they walked in.

“Have a seat, gentlemen. Dr. Bloom should be arriving shortly.”

Jack’s time frame is woefully exaggerated. Alana storms past them, half-way across the room before the door slams behind her. Her skirt twirls around her knees as she turns sharply in their direction. “How the hell did this happen?”

Will looks to Hannibal, who gives his hand a light squeeze. “Well, you see, Alana, when two men love each other very much-“

“Shut up, Will.” The fire in her eyes rises briefly and she trains her sights on Hannibal. “My question is directed at your husband.”

Taking a step forward, Will places himself between Alana and Hannibal. He hadn’t intended to act the protective spouse so early in the conversation. “I believe this inquisition was meant for me. Hannibal is only here for a show of support. Isn’t that how you sold it to me, Jack?”

Leaning back in his chair, Jack folds his hands over his stomach. “I have some questions regarding your recent diagnosis and why the hell you would take Abigail Hobbs back to Minnesota. I want Dr. Lecter here for any questions you may not be able to answer, that is true. However, I said nothing of Dr. Bloom’s agenda and I am curious to hear his response, as well.”

“So, Hannibal,” Pursing her lips, Alana forms her words carefully, “Please explain how your relationship could be seen as anything more than the seduction of a patient.”

Will can feel the blood rise in his cheeks. He knew this very question would arise, but to hear it out loud, the choice in Alana’s phrasing paints him as a frail victim. “Hold on. I have never paid Hannibal a dime. I’m sure you’ve checked, Jack. Any claims filed against my insurance?”

“No,” Jack tips forward in his chair, his elbows connecting on the desk with a gentle thud. “But-“

“But nothing.”

“That is hardly the end of the conversation, Will.” Alana’s arms cross her chest. She squeezes her ribs as though she’s holding in a frustrated scream. “Just because no money was exchanged doesn’t make this any better. You met with him weekly, yes?”

“Yes.” Will swallows thickly, sensing her line of questioning will only raise doubt within himself.

“In his office?”

Will nods, “Mostly.”

“And how did you see him?” Letting her arms fall to her sides, Alana’s voice softens. “Taking payment out of the equation, did you ever view Hannibal as your doctor?”

The answer requires one of those half-truths Will had accused Hannibal of being so good at using. Stepping into Hannibal’s space, Will wraps his arm inside Hannibal’s elbow and leans closer. “I saw him as my friend until I saw him as something more.”

“You were sick, Will.” Alana sighs as though she’s completely exhausted. “You were vulnerable and I am not convinced that Hannibal didn’t exploit that.”

“It is not you that I,” Hannibal folds Will’s hand between his own, his eyes fondly scanning Will’s face, “that we must convince. If you have such concerns, I suggest you file a formal complaint with the board.”

“That is exactly what I intend to do.”

Will can guarantee there will be further questions, but he doesn’t think he can take any more today. “Are we done here? I have a class to teach.”

Jack gives Alana a curt nod. Her eyes linger on Will as she reluctantly moves towards the door. “No, and no.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“There are some things I need clarified. Dr. Lecter can help me there.” Jack slides a sheet of paper across the desk. Will can assume what it says as soon as he sees the Mercy Hospital letterhead, something regarding his complete refusal to voluntarily take a leave of absence.

“The doctor said it was only a suggestion.”

“Well, it was one that she clearly didn’t feel you would take. She cut you off at the pass.”

Will scratches his head in frustration. He had actually been awaiting the distraction of work to bring some semblance of normalcy back to his life. “How long?”

“Two weeks. You will need to be cleared by a neurologist prior to your return.”

This day keeps getting better and better. Will’s palm begins to ache before he even realizes he’s clenched his fist. “What the hell am I going to do for two weeks?”

“Whatever the hell newlyweds do. Get out of my office.” Jack swings his finger towards the door, effectively dismissing Will without further discussion. “Dr. Lecter, you stay.”

Will doesn’t expect Hannibal’s hand when it lands on the small of his back, but to his credit, he doesn’t jump. “May I walk Will out?”

Jack stops short of rolling his eyes, his expression as dry as baked clay. “Sure.”

Hannibal guides them towards the elevator. After three steps, it becomes clear that they are the undisputed center of attention. Some people find a sudden reason to gaze thoughtfully out into the hall, pondering the great mysteries of a case while others giddily stare, feeling no need to hide their overt curiosity.

If it is a performance they want, Will gets to choose the stage, ducking into a shallow alcove. He leans his back against the wall and traps Hannibal’s hand that never left him as they walked. Their closeness creates the desired effect as shocked titters begin to rise from the looky-loos. “Was my chivalry up to par?”

A soft grin graces Hannibal’s lips. “You did a more than admirable job. Unfortunately, I fear you may be called upon for an encore.”

“Do you really think Alana will file a complaint?”

“In all the years I’ve known her, she has never given me reason to doubt her.”

Only last night, Will would have delighted in the idea of Hannibal in hot water. He doesn’t understand the concern he has regarding the matter now, but it is most definitely genuine. His fingers tremble before settling on Hannibal’s temple, brushing tenderly along his hair line until Will’s palm cups the smooth cheek. “No matter what happens, I’m sure you’ll come out on the other side, squeaky clean as always.”

The corner of Hannibal’s eye twitches, the sparse sign that he feels anything at all. Will is surprised that he can read Hannibal well enough to know that it must mean he feels whatever it is in great measure. Hannibal clears his throat before speaking. “What will you do with your day?”

Will sighs, his shoulders lifting slightly. “Wolf Trap, I guess. I need to see to the dogs.”

“You should pack up some things to bring to Baltimore. Make a space for yourself in my house.”

Hannibal’s words are a much needed reminder, like a hand clearing through the smoke of his foggy thoughts. Will is just a player in Hannibal’s elaborate game. It would do no good to get too comfortable. “You should get back. Jack isn’t a patient man.”

“Of course, dear,” Hannibal says cheekily. In what appears to be a completely natural decision, he brushes his lips quickly over Will’s forehead. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

“What’s on the menu?”

“Long pig.”

Will wrinkles his nose and shakes his head. “Fish, I think.”

*****

Puttering around the house, Will pretends to sort piles of things to take to Hannibal’s. He’s put together three flannel shirts and book on fly fishing that one of his students had given him. That’s all he can bare to move from his home. If he boxed up everything, leaving the walls bare, Hannibal’s swanky residence would never be the sanctuary Wolf Trap has become.

He’s about to take the dogs out for their third walk of the afternoon, but even the allure of the most coveted ball isn’t enough to stir the pack. They rouse at the sound of tires crunching the gravel driveway, losing interest when Will turns back toward his bed and shoves his things in his sad excuse for luggage. “You said we were meeting back at the house. I’m afraid you wasted your gas if you thought I’d need help moving my things.”

“I came out here to have a conversation.” Alana stands just inside the door, her slim, gloved hands twisting with uncertainty. “I don’t really care about the gas.”

“I assumed you were Hannibal.” Will’s voice is dripping with sarcasm when he says, “but, come on in. Make yourself at home.”

“You always made me feel welcome in your home, Will. When did that change?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Possibly the night you shone a spotlight on my instability.”

Alana’s eyes are glistening when she lifts her gaze. Will hadn’t been expecting that. “The night you kissed me?”

“Is that what this is about?”

Her heels click on the hardwood floors as she closes the door, then the space between them. “It wasn’t that long ago.”

Will’s hand twitches at his side. He so badly wants to reach for her, but he can add that to the list of unthinkable actions since he made a lopsided deal for Abigail’s life. He turns his back on Alana, unable to handle the emotions playing on her face. “Feels like a lifetime.”

“Not to me.”

He knows what is coming, sees it play out before Alana’s hand wraps around he bicep. Will is looking directly into her eyes, glances at her lips as they inch closer to his own. His lids flutter shut when they meet. It feels familiar, sweet in a way that makes his eyes burn. She presses her body against him and her arms clench tightly around his back. Will’s hand sift through the soft hair that falls around Alana’s neck before gripping her shoulders and pushing hard enough to separate them.

His quickened breath betrays him, unable to hide how affected he is. Will swipes at the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. “Do you know what I did after you left me that night? I ran to Hannibal, told him everything.”

Alana recoils as though Will had struck her. “You were already with him?”

“Honestly, I think I’ve been with him since we first laid eyes on each other.” Will doesn’t know the extent of the truth behind that statement, but it feels right. “And you can wipe off that look on your face. You didn’t seem to have a problem kissing me, knowing full well I’m a married man. You don’t get to act indignant over withheld information now.”

Picking up her purse from where she had apparently tossed it on the bed, Alana clears her throat. “And will you tell him about my actions this afternoon?”

“That really depends on your next move.”

“You want me to refrain from submitting a complaint.”

Will appreciates that she didn’t form that as a question. “You wanted me to find stability, Alana. You may never understand what it is that Hannibal and I share, but he provides me with that and more.” Even he is impressed by how sincere he sounds, willfully ignoring the kernel of truth that lies within. Hannibal owes him big time for this. “If you could look at this situation objectively, you’d see that.”

Alana doesn’t agree. Will can tell her mind isn’t made up yet, but he knows she’ll be considering it thoroughly. “I hope you’re right, Will.”

Once he hears her engine start, Will lets go of a deep sigh. “Me too, Alana. Me, too.”

*****

The ride back to Baltimore seems longer than normal as Will drives headlong into the setting sun. When Alana left, he packed more possessions dutifully even as he composed the speech that would end this nonsense. Will couldn’t stay and Abigail couldn’t…well, Abigail couldn’t go. He constructed his best argument, searching for any gaping holes while he closed his trunk, three boxes of all he owned packed neatly inside. Will rolls his neck and goes over the bullet points in his head, the well-manicured lawns of Hannibal’s neighborhood whizzing past his windows.

Will is surprised to hear laughter when he opens the door; not the hearty boom of Hannibal, but the tinkling giggle of Abigail. He stands in the doorway of the kitchen unnoticed and simply observes. Hannibal is showing Abigail the proper way to dice an onion, her nervous laugh following each imperfect attempt. Side by side, their easy companionship is plain to see. His chest aches from the beauty of it and as much as he tries to convince himself that this life is just a charade, Will desperately wants it nonetheless.

He’s about to turn, get back in his car and drive until the case he has built sounds as strong as it did in Wolf Trap, but Abigail stops him.

“Will!” She wipes her hands on an apron before throwing her arms around his neck. “I get to stay here through Friday. Isn’t that great?”

He pulls back slightly, eying her face suspiciously. “And the staff knows where you are?”

“Of course, Will.” Hannibal scoops the onions up, tossing them into a hot skillet. He steps back as steam swirls around his face. “Proper fathers do not arrange jail breaks.”

Will is caught off guard by that statement. “While I never doubt the proper part, since when have you been a father to anyone? Or anything?”

“I was allowed a cat in my youth. I was also quite involved in the rearing of my sister, Mischa.”

There is tragedy in Hannibal’s tone, the sharp remnants of events that scarred a young boy. Will knows better than to ask, but he is wildly curious about the story. He clears his throat and meanders toward the stove. “What’s for dinner?”

“Nothing if you don’t make haste in cleaning the trout.”

Hannibal looks so at ease in this moment. With his shirt sleeves rolled up, Will watches Hannibal’s forearms flex as he works. The rising humidity in the room wilts the morning’s perfectly coifed hairdo until fringe rests gently over Hannibal’s lined forehead. Will swallows hard, a confusing rush of attraction making it hard to breathe.

“Is everything alright, Will?”

Will shakes himself from deep within his own thoughts. Maybe he’s been thinking too much. His fingers wrap around Hannibal’s wrist and Will pulls him close with a quick jerk. He quiets his inner voice as their lips meet and focuses on nothing but the feel, so different from Alana. Hannibal’s lips are not familiar and far from sweet, but there is no use in denying their affect. The kiss ends before it can truly begin, Hannibal easing away with an uncertain crinkle in the corners of his eyes. Will cups Hannibal’s cheek, his thumb smoothing away the doubt. “Just glad to be home.”

He maintains his smile, peeling the scales from an impressive looking fish. Will’s idea of cutting loose of this lie dies as a conversation turns to college visits and car shopping. He could never have guessed that this is where he would be a mere week from their forced nuptials, but he knows as well as he knows his own name that he’ll damn well see it through.


	3. Six Month Anniversary

“Abigail is still not answering her phone.”

Will glances into the mirror, Hannibal’s worried reflection looming large. He spits toothpaste down the drain before wiping his mouth. “She’s probably cleaning her dorm room or catching up on weeks of laundry before we get there.”

Hannibal shakes his head curtly. “I specifically asked her to call last evening.” He notices Will’s smirk and huffs, “May I ask what is so amusing?”

“You’ve never really struck me as the worrying type.”

“I do my best to avoid it, but I find this to be harder to control than expected. Her car is in need of service and she has been volunteering in that very suspect neighborhood.”

“For some reason, they don’t put homeless shelters in the swanky part of the city.”

Hannibal’s eyes narrow, his expression stony. “Your particular brand of humor is not appreciated.”

Will pulls Hannibal closer, a gentle grip on his biceps before smoothing the shoulders of Hannibal’s most casual blazer. He rests his hands there and catches Hannibal’s gaze. “It’s Parent’s Weekend, Hannibal. Abigail is just busy. If anything were wrong, her roommate would have called by now.”

At that very moment, Will’s phone rings. He rolls his eyes at the feel of Hannibal tensing beneath his hands. “It’s just a coincidence.”

Will rushes to his room and grabs his phone from the nightstand right before the call goes to voicemail. “Graham.”

“It’s Jack. I need you.”

“And I need to get on the road.” He mouths ‘Jack’ to Hannibal in the hopes that he’ll relax and take a breath. “We told Abigail we’d meet her in an hour and a half and it takes almost two hours to get there. Surely you have another show pony in the stable chomping at the bit for a chance to impress the great Jack Crawford.”

There is a frustrating silence on the other end of the line, eerie in its bloated length. Jack’s voice finally crackles to life just before Will hangs up. “When was the last time you spoke to Abigail?”

Will stomach drops like a lead balloon and his knees begin to quake. He sits on the edge of the bed, afraid they will give out completely, and reaches for Hannibal’s hand. “Yesterday afternoon. Why?”

“This morning, her car was found three blocks off campus, keys and purse still inside, but no Abigail.”

“The damn thing’s been acting up. It probably died.”

“There’s more, Will. She left us a surprise in the trunk. Alana Bloom. Her neck had been snapped.”

The earth tilted and Will felt the coffee he drank earlier attempting to climb back up his throat. He closed his eyes, squeezing them tight. Any minute now, he’ll wake up because this has to be a nightmare. “I’m not sure I like your phrasing, Jack. You can’t possibly think that-“

“I have no idea what to think. My colleague is dead and the one person who might have some answers is nowhere to be found.”

“Abigail is missing.” Will feels the weight of Hannibal next to him on the mattress, but he still can’t bring himself to crack open his lids. “You should be focused on finding her.”

“Oh, you can be certain I’m looking.”

“When you find Abigail, I want to be there when you question her.”

“Then, you’d better drive fast. I’ll text you the location.”

Jack is long gone before Will lowers his phone. “You were right. We need to go.”

“Will?” Hannibal tightens the grip on his hand. Will swears he feels sweat on Hannibal’s palm.

“I’ll tell you what I know in the car.” Will grabs his jacket from the back of the door and pulls Hannibal along behind him. “Right now, I need you to demonstrate how powerful the engine in the Bentley really is.”

*****

“Her death upsets you.”

They have been riding in silence for so long, Will startles when Hannibal speaks. He rubs firmly at the tension in his forehead. Will doesn’t even know how to respond. “Of course, I’m upset, Hannibal. Alana was my friend.”

“Let’s be honest, Will.” Hannibal spares a glance, quickly refocusing on the highway he is barreling down at unsafe speeds. “She was more than that.”

“She was a mirage.” Will sighs deeply as he pictures her hair, the way it would float about her head like a halo when she ran with the dogs. He thinks of how he’ll miss the calm that would pass through him just being in her presence. He remembers their first kiss and their last and he can’t decide if it hurts more or less to acknowledge that his feelings had faded by the second meeting of their lips. Will never mentioned it to Hannibal and questions regarding their marriage had taken a steep decline. “What I’m focused on now is finding Abigail.”

“Does Jack really believe that Abigail was involved in Alana’s death?”

“You know Jack. He has always assumed the worst of Abigail. Sad thing is, he’s not been wrong yet, he just can’t prove it.”

They grow quiet again, content to let classical music fill the space between them. Will is thinking, and assuming Hannibal is as well, that they couldn’t be entirely certain that Abigail wasn’t involved. His gut sinks when he realizes that it might be their best case scenario, not kidnapped or worse.

Will’s head lulls to the right. He tries to let the vibrant shades of the fall landscape wipe his mind of thought altogether. Memories of Alana refuse to be swept aside. The last time Will spoke with her was almost two months ago. They made painful small talk for five minutes or so, unable to continue ignoring the other after they literally ran into each other in the hall outside Jack’s office. She mentioned adopting a dog. Once Hannibal finds out there is an orphaned puppy in the picture, he won’t be surprised when Will offers to take it. It’s not like they don’t have the room.

“A wedding present.” Hannibal smiled broadly as he walked Will across the alley to the lot behind his home. He gave the gate a push and waited for Will’s reaction.

It didn’t disappoint. Will’s jaw dropped as he took a few slow steps through the newly erected fence. “So, this is why we had to stay in Wolf Trap.”

The fence was not the only construction that had taken place. In addition to the removal of several trees, a modest block building stood in the middle of the vast lawn. Will’s pace increased along with his heart rate, nearly trotting to the door; a door equipped with a flap that a large dog might fit through. He didn’t suppress the chuckle that erupted from his throat when he discovered a ratty couch and even rattier chair inside. The kicker was the basket of dog toys overflowing into the corner.

“Do you like it, Will?”

Hannibal knew the answer before asking the question, but Will didn’t see the harm in letting him have the satisfaction. “No, Hannibal, I don’t like it. I love it.”

That was the first night Will slept in Hannibal’s bed. Hannibal’s eyes had grown so wide when Will crawled between the sheets and scooted close enough to tangle their feet. They stared at each other, Hannibal trying to read Will’s intentions when there were none to find. Will had taken action for exactly that purpose, to be close to Hannibal. He hadn’t thought any further, even though it was clear he should have.

Hannibal took pity and did what Will hadn’t had the courage to do since that afternoon in the kitchen. The sheets rustled softly as he cupped the back of Will’s head and brought their mouths together delicately. Will's hand slid across Hannibal’s stomach before landing on his hip. That was all the more they touched the entire night, their kisses never growing passionate enough to lead to more, but never quite ending. It was the best Will had slept in years.

Will is so lost in thought; he doesn’t hear his phone until the second ring. “Any news, Jack?”

“Are you close?”

“We’ll be there in five.”

“Good. The school received a message. You’ll want to see this.”

*****

The video is just as hard to watch as Will knew it would be. Abigail’s hair is stringy, her dirty face streaked by sweat and tears. Her voice trembles as her captor holds her chin with his fat, gnarled fingers, forcing her to look in the camera. “The sins were never just my father’s.” Abigail’s face crumbles and two fat droplets tumble until they fall from her jaw. “I shouldn’t be allowed to hide anymore.”

There’s a scream and the screen goes dark. Not a damn thing is distinctive regarding Abigail’s surroundings. No light from a window to illuminate the dull grey walls or sound hidden in the background. Only Abigail’s ragged breath and pitiful whimpering echo in Will’s ear.

Searching Abigail’s car agitates Will further. He sees plenty, but not from the right point of view. It’s Abigail who speaks to him, her racing pulse that pounds in his temple. Alana stands in the head lights waving her arms and yelling for Abigail to turn back. Will can’t bear to look as Alana falls awkwardly to the pavement and Abigail goes silent. Jack releases him quickly, too many scenarios where Will would be more hindrance than help likely.

Hannibal is waiting for him beside the Bentley and Will’s anger over being cut out by Jack dissipates the closer he gets. They will find Abigail. They will decide a fitting punishment for those unfortunate enough to fuck with their family. It feels right in his bones and a thrill runs straight through him. The beast within Will is growing under Hannibal’s influence, stirring now as the hunger for vengeance fills his belly. Will has done a fine job keeping it caged so far, but he knows that won’t always be the case. How excited Hannibal will be to witness his becoming.

“Jack is looking in the wrong direction.”

Hannibal nods, opening the door and smoothly climbs behind the steering wheel. “I anticipated as much.”

Will looks over his shoulder making sure to glare at Jack for good measure. He gets inside and takes Hannibal’s hand. “I was hoping you would say that.”

It is obvious enough that their suspect can be found within the family and friends of the Shrike’s victims. Jack is on the same page there, but he mistakenly believes it’s someone on campus. If that’s true, they could have attempted to gain Abigail’s trust on their own. Alana was necessary bait. Abigail doesn’t know her kidnapper. Jack is casting too small a net.

“I donate to a fair number of politicians,” Hannibal explains. “Sizable amounts are not quickly forgotten.”

They haven’t even checked into the hotel before Hannibal’s phone rings. Will keeps his eye on Hannibal’s back as he signs for the room key.

“Enjoy your stay, Mr. Lecter.”

Will smiles politely, gathering their bags. He doesn’t correct people anymore. He’s gotten rather used to it.

They ride the elevator to the fourth floor in silence. It is killing Will not to ask, but Hannibal makes it clear with one look that they need to wait for privacy. When they reach the room, Hannibal has his key at the ready and stands aside so that Will may enter first.

“So?” Will asks, rocking anxiously on the balls of his feet.

“Before I tell you what I have learned, I must ask.”

“Ask what?”

“Is your intention to share this information with the FBI?”

Will stops rocking, his shoulders falling heavily. “Why the hell would I do that?”

“I find the more interesting question to be, when did your attitude on such matters change?”

“Seriously, Hannibal.” Will throws up his hands in exasperation. “You want to do this now?”

Hannibal clasps his hands behind his back and tilts his chin up proudly. “I need to know what you expect of me. You have made your feelings about my extracurricular activities quiet clear, but if that isn’t what you want, why not notify the authorities?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Hannibal.”

“Say what you mean, Will.”

“I mean to save Abigail.” For the first time since he received Jack’s call that morning, Will allows his anger to consume him, feels violence and hatred fill all the empty spaces beneath his skin. “No one will stand in our way.”

*****

“This doesn’t feel right. It’s too simple, Hannibal.”

Hannibal sighs, looking across the street at the shabby, rundown home of Richard Whitmore. “We are hardly dealing with a criminal mastermind, only the heartbroken boyfriend of a murdered girl. He has more desire for revenge than knowledge.”

Will’s head cocks sharply. He takes a second hard look at Hannibal. “Do you feel sorry for him?”

Hannibal’s lip curls and his chest jumps with a short chuckle. “Does the butcher feel sorry for the cow? I’m simply stating that this plot is no more complicated than what he can remember from the crime procedurals he watches.”

The fire ebbs in Will’s veins. Hannibal is trying to reassure him, but his pep talk inspires sympathy in Will instead. Abigail is inside, dirty and scared, but most likely unharmed. It hardly seems fair, or wise for that matter, to let Hannibal loose on a young man devastated by the loss of his first love. “We’ll search the house, find Abigail. Once she’s safe, I’ll call Jack.”

If not in agreement, then in acquiescence, Hannibal nods. “You’ll need the bolt cutters from the trunk.”

Will is unsurprised that somehow Hannibal happened to know that there would be a door to the basement at the rear of the house, shut tight with an industrial lock. All it takes is moderate pressure to snap the metal in two. Will leans the bolt cutters against the small concrete stoop outside the back door, grinning wide. “How much Law and Order do you watch, Hannibal?”

Hannibal is about to speak what would have been a snappy retort when they hear a crash inside. He shoves the car keys in Will’s hand, his lips hovering over Will’s ear. “Find Abigail. Get her to the car. If I’m not there in five minutes, call Jack and drive.”

With his flashlight out, Will is down the stairs before he hears a pane of glass shatter. He stops to listen for footsteps above him even though he knows Hannibal’s light gate won’t make a sound. His worry refocuses, bringing him back to the matter at hand.

The thin beam illuminates the dirt beneath his feet, worn tracks leading off to the left. Will follows the trail cautiously, anticipating the worst until he sees the world’s ugliest pair of shoes. He had argued with Hannibal about the ridiculous price he paid for shiny silver cowboy boots that Abigail couldn’t possibly find an excuse to wear. He’s never been so happy to be wrong. “Abigail?”

She recoils in fear, but Will leans closer and set the flashlight on the ground to brighten the space around them. Her eyes fill with tears and she reaches for him with both hands crudely duct taped together. “I knew you’d find me.”

Will grabs a knife from his pocket. The tape splits neatly beneath his blade. He loses his balance when she wraps her arms too tightly around his neck, bracing himself against the wall behind her as he calmly whispers, “It’s okay. We’re here.”

He pulls back slowly, brushing the matted hair from her face, but Abigail winces. Will’s fingers are sticky and his hand shakes as he lifts the strands. “Oh, Abigail, what did he do to you?”

“My ear, he made me-“ Her voice is choked by sobs. She grinds her dirty palms into her eyes before hiding them in shame as Will inspects the torn flesh on the side of her face. “He made me eat it.”

There will be no call to Jack, at least not until this is over. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Will cuts the binding around Abigail’s ankles and gets her to her feet. He’s shrugging off his jacket to place around Abigail’s shoulders when her eyes widen. Will hears the air being sliced, a bat aiming for the back of his skull. He has just enough time to shove Abigail out of the way and dive to his left, his side throbbing on impact. The bat, sturdy and wooden, connects with his ribs. Will arches in pain, his agonizing scream bouncing off the walls as he feels his bones snap.

He is able to crack his eyes open enough to see his attacker. The young man whose friends call him Little Richie is ironically nicknamed, Will is discovering too late in the game. Whitmore looks every bit of six and a half feet tall, corn-fed muscle bulging in a holey t-shirt as he lifts the bat above his head for another crushing swing. Will’s eyes squeeze shut and he braces for the strike.

The blow never comes. The heel of Hannibal’s loafer connects with the crook of Whitmore’s knee, Richard and the bat both dropping to the floor. Hannibal wastes no time in hopping on his back and wrapping a forearm around his thick neck. “Take Abigail. I will handle this.”

Will hefts himself up, clutching his side, but pushing away the pain. He has Abigail by the elbow and is almost to the stairs when he hears the scuffle. He looks over his shoulder in time to see Whitmore topple a rickety shelf, the contents of a rusted tool box scattering on the ground. Will goes cold as he watches Richard’s meaty fingers wrap around the handle of a screwdriver.

Shoving his phone in Abigail’s hand, he lets go of her arm. “Call Jack.”

The dull light glints off the metal, the pointed tip gleaming before it plunges into Hannibal’s side. Will feels it like a flash of heat; his rebirth, the awakening of his truest self. The beast within bursts from his cage and fills Will’s skin like a tailored suit. He feels the knife in his pocket, the weight of the handle in his grip. Will lunges forward, sinking the blade into Richard’s shoulder and twisting with all the strength he has left.

Whitmore releases his hold on the screwdriver and grabs for Will’s throat instead. He lifts Will up until the tips of his shoes barely scrape the ground as he kicks his feet. His eyes scan the room for Hannibal, but he doesn’t see a sign of him. As Will’s vision grows black, he looks around for a weapon or weakness, finding neither. Maybe Will can’t save himself. Maybe that is just fine.

Or maybe his thoughts came a moment too soon. The force with which Will’s feet hit the floor cause him to stumble, his momentum sending him crashing into the wall behind him and knocking him down to his knees. His head jerks up at the sound of Richard’s yell and he witnesses Hannibal yanking an axe from the meat of Whitmore’s thigh.

Hobbled, but still standing, Richard pulls the knife from his shoulder and swings out across Hannibal’s chest. The blade cuts cleanly through white cotton, now tinged in pink from the blood trickling out of the gash on Hannibal’s sternum. Hannibal clutches Whitmore’s wrist and bends until it pops, the knife falling from his hand and skittering across the ground. Richard’s elbow connects with Hannibal’s cheek, knocking him back, and he spins around to face Will.

Their gazes lock on the discarded weapon between. Richard bares his teeth as he barks, “Fuck, why don’t you just die already?”

The young man moves first, but Hannibal is faster, even with gaping wounds in his chest and side. Will’s eyes meet Hannibal’s over Richard’s shoulder and the air freezes in his lungs. He has never experienced anything like it before. Will is not reading Hannibal, he’s linked to him; one breath, one heartbeat, one mind. Will is scooping the knife from the dirt as Hannibal jumps, landing on Whitmore’s back. With a sharp tug around his neck, Richard rears back exposing his soft belly. Hannibal’s eye glow as he watches Will plunge the serrated teeth into the tender tissue, the blade slipping through Richard’s gut like soft butter.

Whitmore’s dying body strikes out in a last ditch attempt at survival, a feeble kick sweeping Will’s feet out from under him. Hannibal growls at the offense, tearing into Richard’s neck with his teeth. With a last, gurgling gasp, Richard Whitmore’s battered body falls down with a mighty thud.

Will reaches for Hannibal, his heart pounding in his chest and his lungs struggling for air. Hannibal’s breathing is just as ragged when he whispers, “Was it everything you thought it would be?”

Tripping over his own feet, Will clutches at Hannibal’s shirt sleeves in desperation. He tries to gather his thoughts, but exhilaration and exhaustion allow only three words to emerge. “It was beautiful.”

Hannibal pulls Will closer, their lips clashing violently. The taste of Hannibal’s tongue and the coppery note of Whitmore’s blood flood Will’s mouth. He mindlessly ruts against Hannibal’s solid thigh, so overwhelmed with desire he doesn’t stop when the sound of sirens fills the basement. It is the brush of Hannibal’s palm over Will’s ribcage that finally parts them.

“Fuck!” Will bites his lips hard, warding off the wave of nausea. He rests his head on Hannibal’s chest, careful of his wound. “They are definitely broken.”

“I would kill him again, if I could.”

Will smiles, his heart suddenly light. “How oddly romantic.”

“Are you prepared to face Jack’s wrath?”

A car door slams in the distance. Will recognizes it immediately. “Ready or not, here he comes.”

*****

“You are an idiot.” Beverly slugs Will in the arm. His newly wrapped ribs jar upon impact and he winces. Beverly gasps, winding her arms quickly, but gently, around his neck. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

Will brushes her silky, black hair from his face. “It’s alright. You’re not wrong.”

She pulls back, resting her hands on Will’s shoulders and surveying the damage. “You could have been killed. You might still be when Jack finally corners you.”

“Let him give me his worst, Bev. I did what I had to do.”

“He’s going to take you out of the field.”

Will sighs, his fingers pushing his glasses up as they rub at his tired eyes. “If Jack doesn’t, I will.”

“Hey, it’s probably an idle threat. Let’s not do anything…” Beverly’s voice fades. Something has changed in Will’s demeanor. This isn’t a rash decision. “Why?”

“Even when I knew it wasn’t good for me, I stayed out there. I was saving lives.” Will looks across the scene, through the hustle of agents and local police, to find Hannibal, hair disheveled and his blood-soaked shirt clinging to his untreated wounds. Abigail is being loaded into an ambulance and she clutches Hannibal’s hand until she is forced to let go. Will’s chest tightens, stomach dropping at the sight. “They’re getting too close, now; Alana, my family. I can’t, not anymore.”

Beverly nods, pretending to understand. As she walks away, Will hopes that one day she will, finding a life, maybe even a family, outside of the lab. Until then, he knows she can’t possibly fathom what it’s like to nearly lose the ones you love. “Oh, fuck.”

Will is in love with his husband. His heart hammers in his chest and his knees wobble, almost knocked over by the stunning realization. He thinks it best to sit down, but his legs keep lurching forward. Will forces his way through a sea of people, only one person able to stop his progress. Hannibal senses Will as he draws closer, turning to face him and opening his arms. Will collapses into them gratefully.

Hannibal holds Will firmly, brushing his lips over Will’s temple. “She will be fine. I have a call in to a plastic surgeon friend of mine.”

“What about you?”

Taking into consideration recent events, Hannibal is unable to suppress a smile. “It has been some time since I have felt this alive.”

Will is trying to process similar emotions. He is reeling, a sickening mix of joy and disgust over what took place in that basement, but that will have to wait until more pressing matters have been attended to. “Will you let a doctor check you out so I can make sure you stay that way?”

“Careful, dear husband,” Hannibal teases. “Someone might believe that you are genuinely concerned.”

Gripping Hannibal’s shirt, Will nuzzles his face against Hannibal’s chest hair and breathes in deeply, memorizing the comforting scent of him. “Believe it.”

“Will?” Hannibal’s head is cocked, his brow creased in confusion. He places a finger under Will’s chin, searching his face for a hint of sarcasm. Finding none, Hannibal clears his throat. “You should drive.”

They lean on each other for support as they make their way to the Bentley. Will thinks he should tell Jack where they’re going, but he reminds himself that he is under no obligation to do so. Jack’s not his boss any longer. “I quit my job.”

“Is that so?” Hannibal doesn’t act particularly concerned, but Will wasn’t expecting him to. “What will you do for employment?”

“I’m in no hurry. I married recently; distinguished, older man, wealthy beyond my wildest imagination. Quiet a catch, really.” Will opens the door and helps Hannibal inside. He buckles the safety belt, adjusting the straps to a comfortable position. “I get the impression that he won’t mind taking care of me.”

Hannibal returns Will’s playful smile. They grin stupidly at one another for a moment, but when Will moves, Hannibal cups his neck to stop him. Staring into Will’s eyes, Hannibal whispers, “I will enjoy the opportunity immensely.”

Will opens his mouth, closing it abruptly, only to open it again. Once more, his lips press together tightly, keeping his thought locked away. “You need a doctor.”

Hannibal’s gaze follows Will as he moves around the car. He can tell he’s being watched and tries to school his features into a neutral expression while mentally cursing himself for being such a chicken. After everything they’ve been through, saying ‘I love you’ shouldn’t be so terrifying. Unfortunately, it is and Will can’t force the words past the lump in his throat.

The car starts with a gentle purr. Will taps the gas, feeling the engine rev, the sheer power of it vibrating up his arms. It feels good to have control over at least one thing in this moment. The tires squeal as Will pulls out onto the street and Hannibal is forced back in his seat.

“Excessive speed is uncalled for, Will. The hospital is but a few blocks north.”

“And, you’re hurt.” Will glances at the dried blood on Hannibal’s chest. He swallows his rising rage. “You’re bleeding all over your custom leather seats.”

“Superficial wounds, I assure you. Young Richard was resilient, but he had terrible aim.”

“He could have killed you, Hannibal.”

Will jumps as Hannibal takes his hand. He spares quick glances at their twined fingers, gripping tightly as he winds up the levels of the hospital’s parking garage. They could have lost this today. “Hannibal, I-“

“Yes, Will?”

“I…” He pulls into a spot near the elevators and takes a deep breath. Palms sweating and heart racing, Will looks Hannibal directly in the eye. “I…I should have dropped you off at the emergency room. Wait here while I get a wheelchair.”

“That is highly unnecessary and unwanted.” Hannibal grits his teeth as he tries to pull himself up with the aide of the passenger door. “If you will assist me to my feet, I’m sure I can make it the rest of the way.”

Will hurries around the car. He swings Hannibal’s legs out first before circling his ribs, careful of the puncture to his side, and lifts. Will holds Hannibal steady until it’s obvious he doesn’t need to, then, he holds on for a minute more. “I want to take in Alana’s dog.”

Hannibal’s short chuckle ruffles Will’s hair. “Anything.”

Cocking his head, Will’s eyes are narrowed as he asks, “Really? No argument?”

“Not today.” Hannibal stands up straight and walks toward the elevator hiding any sign of discomfort. “Is this what you’ve been struggling to tell me?”

Will picks up the pace, amazed at how quickly Hannibal moves with a hole in his abdomen. “I’m wrestling with a few things.”

For a large city hospital, the emergency room is very light on patients. Will isn’t done with the paperwork before Hannibal is being taken back to exam. Hannibal frowns at the sight of the wheelchair, but doesn’t argue. He slips his wallet onto Will’s lap and takes a seat. “You will find my insurance cards behind my driver’s license.”

With fumbling fingers, Will slips the card from its pocket. “Anything else I need to know?”

“One more thing.” Hannibal motions Will closer and grabs for his wrist when he come near. His other hand twists in Will’s hair, causing Will to lose balance and their lips to crash together. Hannibal has never kissed him in public before. Will’s astonished eyes flutter closed as he relaxes into the warm, welcome pressure of Hannibal’s mouth.

“Hannibal,” Will is going to say it. Those three little words.

“I am in love with you, as well, Will.”

“Wait? How did you-?” Will notices the annoyed stare of the orderly, but continues on. “Am I losing my mystery?”

Patting Will’s cheek playfully, Hannibal produces a smile wider than Will has ever seen it. “I will never be able to predict you, but you made your feelings quite easy to read.”

Unwilling to wait any longer, the orderly shoves Hannibal forward and down the hall. Will has to hold his reply for another time. He finds himself with so much to say and relishes in the idea that he has forever to say it.

Will sits back down, pushing the pen a little faster than before. His skin crawls as he longs to be near Hannibal as soon as possible. Will needs him like air now, knowing himself more completely with Hannibal by his side. He entered into this relationship to save a life. Who could have guessed that, in the end, it would be his own?


End file.
